


Cupcakes & Hot Pants

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Fluffy Smutty Crack, Greg In Hot Pants, M/M, Married mystrade, Not Beta Read, Prompt Fill, Shameless Smut, There's cupcakes too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: “Were you attempting to bake?” Mycroft asks cautiously, while at the same time crossing the distance between them, caressing Greg’s cheek, and leaning in for a kiss.Greg swats him on the arm, mock-insult covers his face. “Oi, I only burnt one lot.”“An improvement.” Mycroft murmurs teasingly, leaning in to kiss Greg.“Damn right.” Greg breathes against his lips, before allowing Mycroft the kiss.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	Cupcakes & Hot Pants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rioroth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rioroth/gifts), [Anglofile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglofile/gifts).



> Thanks to [@RioRoth](https://twitter.com/RioRoth) and [@MyAngloFiles](https://twitter.com/MyAngloFiles) on Twitter, I was kindly given two words to help me accomplish something this week. They were 'Cupcake' by @RioRoth and 'Hot Pants' by @MyAngloFiles.  
> Here is the result. 
> 
> I'm sorry, but also not sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

Mycroft had had a reasonably good day.

His day had included insulting the Prime Minister five times to his face and two times indirectly.  
All the while trying to ensure the country didn’t go to hell; which was proving incredibly challenging, seeing as pretty much anyone with a modicum of power was dedicated to such an outcome. 

But his day is now nearly over, it’s the weekend, and he’s looking forward to seeing his husband, and perhaps shagging him into next week. 

What he doesn’t expect is the faint smell of something burning as he walks up the few steps to their front door. 

Any of the previous calm that he had felt settle over him on the drive home quickly vanishes. He panics, yet is aware that if there was a fire, he would have been informed of it by his security within seconds. 

His hand shakes as he unlocks the front door and is immediately met with what smells like burnt vanilla.   
  
The fire alarms are reassuringly silent, and yet…

“Gregory?” He calls, voice echoing nervously throughout the foyer as he hangs up his coat, stores his gloves in his pockets and slips out of his shining Oxfords. 

“Myc! You’re home early!” Greg emerges from the kitchen, gorgeous face alight with the most wonderful smile directed at Mycroft, and any tension and worry hanging around in his body quickly flees. 

After all, Gregory is safe, and that smile just begs to be kissed. 

Mycroft absently checks his watch. Eight at night would hardly be classed as early, but these days he’s barely been home before ten. 

He’s grateful for small mercies. 

Mycroft has demanded that he not be contacted for the next two days unless in the case of an emergency in which even his most capable employees are at a complete loss. 

The Prime Minister throwing a tantrum was also one of the main things that Mycroft ordered he not be contacted for, lord knows he had to deal with them enough times during the working week as it was. 

So now, he is blissfully free to spend the weekend with his husband in their house that currently smells like burnt vanilla. 

“Were you attempting to bake?” Mycroft asks cautiously, while at the same time crossing the distance between them, caressing Greg’s cheek, and leaning in for a kiss. 

Greg swats him on the arm, mock-insult covers his face. “Oi, I only burnt one lot.” 

“An improvement.” Mycroft murmurs teasingly, leaning in to kiss Greg. 

“Damn right.” Greg breathes against his lips, before allowing Mycroft the kiss. 

Mycroft hums happily, the familiarity of Greg is something that never fails to put him at peace. 

Greg wraps his arms around Mycroft’s waist, pulling him in closer, and Mycroft can feel him smile against his lips. 

“I’ve two surprises for you, darlin’.” Greg’s voice is husky, his breath warm against Mycroft’s ear where he whispers.  
  
Mycroft can’t help but shiver, and Greg’s hum of approval only heats his blood further. 

Greg nuzzles into his neck, trailing his lips over the exposed skin. 

_“Gregory.”_ Mycroft breathes, already clutching at the front of Greg’s shirt. 

“Are you free all weekend?” Greg asks, arching a brow. 

Mycroft doesn’t let go of Greg’s shirt. “As we discussed, my love. No interruptions.”

Greg’s dark eyes sparkle, and Mycroft’s grip tightens, tugging him into another kiss. 

Lords, he’s missed this. 

“C’mere. First surprise.” Greg murmurs, tugging at Mycroft’s hand after their kiss, leading him towards the kitchen. 

“A self-created disaster zone?” Mycroft asks evenly. 

He can see Greg roll his eyes, “I’m going to baking classes when I retire, and you’re coming with me.” Greg smirks at him, “You like my cooking well enough, gonna make sure you like my baking too, darlin’.” 

“So you can fatten me up during our golden years?” Mycroft asks, amusement in his eyes. 

Greg huffs out a laugh, turning his head, dark eyes fixed on Mycroft. 

Immediately, with just one look at Greg, Mycroft knows where he’s accidentally led the conversation, and he feels the blush burn his cheeks before Greg even talks. 

Greg, of course, notices straight away, smile widening. 

“I think we do a pretty good job at burning off the calories, don’t you darlin’?”

Mycroft bites his lip, and doesn’t even answer the question. 

They both know incredibly well that the answer is an irrevocable yes. 

“Close your eyes.” Greg murmurs, before opening the kitchen door. 

Mycroft does as he's told, and keeps hold of Greg’s hand as he walks him into the kitchen. 

Mycroft can immediately feel the breeze coming from the open window, but the burnt vanilla in here is not as strong as before. Clearly Greg had opened the window and closed the kitchen door before starting his second attempt at what he’s been baking. 

“So, I know it’s not our anniversary yet, but I wanted to try something out beforehand.” Greg explains, then squeezes Mycroft’s hand. “You can open your eyes now, darlin’.” 

Mycroft opens his eyes, there’s a tiered cake stand full of slightly wonky cupcakes, all with white icing and a light shaking of gold glitter. 

The cupcake on top has a shaky G & M written on it. 

Mycroft can’t help but be surprised. He looks to Greg with tears in his eyes, “They’re mini versions of our wedding cake.” 

Greg grins at him, clearly proud of himself. “Must not be that bad if you can recognise that.” He jokes. 

Mycroft can’t help but laugh, the weight of his unbearably long week disappears, any tension that had been in his shoulders loosens. “I love you, you magnificent man.” 

Greg caresses his cheek, pressing a kiss to the tip of Mycroft’s nose, smiling at Mycroft’s huff of laughter in response. “That’s all I need in life, Myc. You and love.” He presses a chaste kiss on Mycroft’s lips. “I love you too, darlin’.” He murmurs against Mycroft’s lips. “Now c’mere and taste them.” 

Greg picks up a cupcake from the bottom, and holds it out to Mycroft. 

“And this is only the first of the surprises?” 

“Mhm.” Greg winks at him, before picking up a cupcake of his own. “Ready?” He asks. 

Mycroft nods, taking away the paper casing, they nod at each other and take a bite at the same time. 

Mycroft closes his eyes, the familiar taste taking him straight back to their wedding day almost six years ago. A small private affair, full of love, warmth and certainty. Greg feeding him the first forkful of cake from the slice they had just cut together. 

When Mycroft opens his eyes, Greg’s watching him with excitement. “Really tastes similar, doesn’t it?” 

Mycroft nods, not caring if his eyes are becoming wet again. “Every day I’m glad to love you even more than the last, Gregory. You amaze me.”

Greg takes the cupcakes from their hands and places them safety on the counter before pulling Mycroft into a heartwarming hug. “Then I can’t wait to show you my next surprise.”

* * *

Mycroft sits on the edge of their bed, heart thudding in his ears. He can hear Greg move around in the guest room next door and his curiosity is on fire. 

Greg’s parting words to him when he ordered Mycroft into a sadly unaccompanied shower were: “Do you remember the photo you saw of me at Pride back in the late 80s?” 

Mycroft’s heart reacted before Mycroft could, what with his eidetic memory, of _course_ he remembers that very treasured photo. 

Greg had winked at Mycroft’s shocked reaction, knowing all too well that Mycroft would certainly remember, then had closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving Mycroft no other choice than go to shower. 

Mycroft had seen the photo when Greg was moving into Mycroft’s home. He’d come with shoeboxes full of photos and treasured memories.  
Mycroft had suggested a bottle of wine, some nibbles, and Greg enlightening him on his past. 

Greg was only too happy to do so, although upset that Mycroft had no photos for him in offering, merely the professional graduation shots from University.  
Mycroft had ensured any candid photos of him had been destroyed long ago. 

To Mycroft’s delight, the one night would not suffice. There was nothing better than Greg’s voice, reminiscent and fond as he told Mycroft all the adventures he and his friends had. 

Mycroft’s thoughts, however, had been rather rapidly derailed at a black and white photo of Greg at a London Pride parade. 

The cause? Black, leather hot pants. On Greg. 

Mycroft had nearly had an aneurysm at the mere sight of the photo; the image far more brilliant than anything his mind had ever come up with during the years he’d fantasised about this man. 

Not only was Greg in hot pants, no, he was also half naked; a pride flag tied around his neck as it acted as a cape for him. 

Greg’s hair was a darker in the photo and Mycroft could make out a nose piercing. 

Chest exposed, and sporting quite exquisite abs too. 

Mycroft had been certain he’d never gone from perfectly calm to horny as fuck in such a short time, so much so that it physically ached. 

Greg’s reaction, once he’d seen the photo that had brought about such a sudden change in Mycroft had been absolutely golden. 

Sex that night had been unforgettable. 

So now, Mycroft sits on the edge of their bed. The thought that Greg has somehow procured a pair of hot pants makes his blood burn through his veins. 

He’d put on a pair of cotton pyjamas; the easiest pair to get off as quickly as possible. 

Heart thudding, he feels his hands shake. 

“Myc?” Greg’s voice comes from the other side of their bedroom door and Mycroft gets startled anyway. 

“Yes?” His voice even cracks. 

“Sit in one of the armchairs by the window and let me know when you are.” 

Mycroft’s quite amazed that he can even stand up straight, but he successfully makes his way to his armchair, making sure the curtains are drawn closed. 

“I’m sitting.” Mycroft calls, heart beating faster still when Greg opens the door. 

Mycroft is somewhat aware that if it was anatomically possible, his jaw would be on the floor.

However, his attention is mainly focussed on Greg. And what a gorgeous sight he is to behold. 

Greg is wearing hot pants, not leather, no. But that doesn’t matter in the slightest, because _Greg is wearing hot pants._

That they are in the pattern of the Union Jack, is another thing altogether. 

But that’s not all. 

When Mycroft starts to feel lightheaded, he realises that he hasn’t taken a breath since Greg walked through that hallowed doorway. 

So, in order to stay conscious, which he definitely needs, he manages a few deep breaths. 

Greg _struts_ closer to Mycroft, stopping only a metre away from him. 

Mycroft is devastated that it is too far away to touch. 

Greg spreads his legs, hands on his hips, and a stern look directed at Mycroft. The light and amusement in his eyes takes away the sternness completely though. 

Mycroft manages to take his eyes off the hot pants, briefly. Greg is wearing a mock-policeman’s shirt; the type you’d find in a costume store. 

On his head is a police helmet, slightly scuffed, clearly a souvenir from Greg’s time on the beat. 

Mycroft is still unable to theoretically pick his jaw off of their bedroom floor. 

_Surprise,_ Greg had said? Well, it was definitely a bloody fabulous one. 

Mycroft’s still struck speechless. 

“Darlin’?” Greg murmurs, amusement plain on his face now. 

Mycroft tries to move the muscles in his face, he really does. All that erupts from him though, is a small whine. 

“Oh darlin’. All for you.” Greg comes closer and Mycroft reaches out, pulling Greg towards him by the belt loops, with far more strength than they both thought he was capable of at this moment. 

“ _Gregory_ …” Mycroft’s moan goes straight to Greg’s cock, just taking a look at the state Mycroft’s in from just getting a look at him makes this all completely worth it. 

“How about a lap dance, darlin’? Would you like that?” Greg shakes his hips suggestively before Mycroft’s wide, pupil-blown eyes. 

“Fuck..” Mycroft breathes, “ _Yes.”_

The lap dance quickly dissolves into them both grinding against each other, Mycroft’s hands firmly planted on Greg’s arse. They’re barely breathing, kissing is far more important at this point, _thankyouverymuch_. 

Greg’s urgent moans turn slightly pained as the hot pants become too tight for comfort. Mycroft seems to realise straight away, reluctantly pulling away from Greg’s lips.  
He glances knowingly down at the bulge in Greg’s pants then back up to Greg’s face, brow arched, “Time to free the crown jewels?” 

The words take a few seconds to commute to Greg’s brain and then their both laughing so hard, they shake. 

“Christ, Mycroft-“ Greg manages, once he stops laughing.  
Mycroft smiles up at him, relinquishing his hold on Greg’s arse. “Is that a no?” 

Greg shakes his head, leaning in to kiss Mycroft before attempting to stand up. “Yes for getting out of these.” 

“And…?” Mycroft asks, immediately catching onto the unsaid. He holds out his hands for Greg to help him up. 

“Wanna ride you, right in that chair.” Greg relishes the catch in Mycroft’s breath, how his eager eyes watch as Greg unbuttons the shorts, a soft moan as he realises Greg hadn’t been wearing underwear. How Mycroft subconsciously licks his lips at the first glimpse of Greg’s hard cock. 

Mycroft stands, unsteady on his feet. Pulling Greg into him, knocking the hat off his head, his hands blindly undo the buttons of the shirt as he kisses Greg as though both their lives depend on it. 

Once Greg’s shirt hits the floor, and he’s completely naked he pulls away giving Mycroft a pointed look, before he goes to fetch the lube. 

Mycroft glances down at his pyjamas, the shirt is gotten rid of in seconds, the wet patch on the groin of his pants doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and they’re taken off and thrown carelessly towards the ensuite. 

When Greg returns, Mycroft takes the bottle from him and drops to his knees. 

Greg moans softly as Mycroft nuzzles into the base of his cock, his own groan filling the room. 

Mycroft adores this, Greg’s scent, Greg’s warmth and solidity. **_Greg._**

Without ceremony, he takes Greg’s cock into his mouth, one hand cradling Greg’s balls, the other moving determinately towards Greg’s hole. 

When he comes across warm silicone, he gasps in shock, so unexpected that he almost chokes. 

Greg’s whole body shakes with silent laughter, as Mycroft leans back, mouth open wide in shock. 

“You didn’t realise I had this in all along?” Surprise evident on Greg’s face. “Usually you can tell with barely a second’s glance.”

Mycroft shakes his head, and Greg grins. 

Greg runs his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. “You must be tired, darlin’.” He says softly, fondness clear in his voice. “Got home early and got myself ready for you.” He says, voice husky. “Wanna do the honours?” 

Mycroft nods, eyes still full of admiration and amazement. “You brilliant man.” He whispers. 

When they both manage to get back to the armchair, they’re both shaking. Nearing oversensitivity. 

Greg easily straddles Mycroft’s lap. “Love you.” He whispers against Mycroft’s lips. 

“I love you too, so much.” Mycroft whispers back, leaning in for a slow, exploratory kiss. 

When it deepens, Greg pulls back. “Ready, love?” 

Mycroft nods, shivering when he feels Greg’s warm hand on his lubed cock before he sinks down slowly; both of them moaning together. 

Once Greg is fully seated and they’ve managed to breathe, Mycroft takes Greg’s face into his hands. He leans in for a kiss, but stills millimetres from Greg’s lips. 

“Use me how you want.” He breathes, “Ride me.” Then closes the distance between them. 

Greg groans into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s shoulders, pulling himself up and back down again, crying out against Mycroft’s lips. 

Mycroft’s hands are tight on Greg’s hips, moving in tandem with Greg. 

Their moans and whimpers are a chorus, one written by only the both of them, familiar and loving. 

They come together, knowing each other’s bodies so well that that can be possible. 

Shivering and holding each other through their aftershocks, they stayed joined, the closest they can be as they whisper their love to each other. 

The hot pants are temporarily forgotten about where they lie on the floor, but come morning the memories will follow, and they have a full weekend together to explore all the possibilities. 

As for cupcakes, Mycroft’s unsure if he’ll ever be able to look at any ever again without getting an erection at the memories that followed the cupcakes this evening. 

He doesn’t particularly mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter @lostallsenseof1 & on tumblr @lostallsenseofcontrol
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
